Obliviously Yours
by TheImaginationAddict
Summary: "You don't spend THAT much time thinking about someone you don't love". Anne, usually so in touch with her feelings and thoughts,never even knew that she had lost her heart... Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: GILBERT owns Anne, alright? Oh, and yeah, LMM owns BOTH of them. Whatever. **

**This was written in response to the quote "You don't spend THAT much time thinking about someone you don't love".**

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><p><em>Anne had no sooner uttered the phrase, "home o'dreams," than it captivated her fancy and she immediately began the erection of one of her own. It was, of course, tenanted by an <em>_ideal master, dark, proud, and melancholy; but oddly enough, Gilbert Blythe persisted in __hanging about too, helping her arrange pictures, lay out gardens, and accomplish sundry __other tasks which a proud and melancholy hero evidently considered beneath his dignity.__Anne tried to banish Gilbert's image from her castle in Spain but, somehow, he went on __being there, so Anne, being in a hurry, gave up the attempt…'_

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><p>Anne, walking back alone to the boarding house which, "served as home, but home was not", one evening, after a meeting of the Redmond Literary Club, found herself enjoying the first bit of quiet in weeks of "gadding about", as Mrs Harmon Andrews had put it.<p>

"The Soul selects her own Society - Then - shuts the Door - To her divine Majority –", came a voice from behind her, and she turned to see Gilbert walking briskly a few paces behind. "Where thou be headed, fair maiden? Could this humble servant entreat thou to accept his company to thy abode?"

Anne laughed. "Aye, this lass would be honoured to accept thy escort, kind sir! Didn't you have a game today, Gilbert? I heard your team is playing in the finals this week… We discussed Ivanhoe at the Meeting today, and you were sorely missed –", thinking of how dispirited it had seemed without his ideas, and flair for recitation.

They spent a few moments discussing all the favourite phrases and lines of that much-loved book, as book lovers have done and _will_ do forever, when Anne, always on the lookout for objects of beauty, exclaimed, 'Oh look! The North Star is out. Do you know, I always think of it as a sentry of the star kingdom? When night falls, it is the first to peek in to see our doings on Earth, and it tells it's brothers and sisters that it's time to come out of hiding, too, but they – disbelieving - cautiously flicker into existence. Then the news spreads, and they all come out together, in a burst of brilliance. How beautiful the night sky looks, with the moon and stars as sparkling adornments!'

Gilbert, looking sideways at Anne, thought that the sparkle in her eyes outshone any star shining in the sky.

"I wonder what they think about the dreams we humans dream, when they reign over the silent, unconscious world. Surely they are privy to all the innermost secrets and hopes of our hearts-", he said, in a tone which seemed to say that he wished to share at least _one_ secret hope, told to no other, with her.

"Yes, and we know that they are the strictest guardians of our secrets, so we can slip away to the world of dreams – carefree and unburdened by caution," said Anne breezily, as though implying that it was better for _some_ secrets to remain so always." Do you know, Miss Ada had embroidered two more cushions this week? I feel like there will soon be no place in the house for us to stay, so filled will it be with them!"

Gilbert replied something in kind, and Anne, relieved to have diverted the topic once again, chatted on about class-doings and Avonlea tidings till he ended his visit. But when she had seen him off, and returned to her small bedroom, she couldn't help feeling frustrated.

"Oh WHY does Gilbert have to act so!" she thought, "It's so exhausting to always be careful what to say now, when usually I can share everything with him! Growing up has so many disagreeable parts!' And the thought, that the queer flutter of gladness she always felt while talking to him - was not really _disagreeable_, went unacknowledged.

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><p><em>As a companion, Anne honestly acknowledged nobody could be so satisfactory as Gilbert; she was very glad, so she told herself, that he had evidently dropped all nonsensical ideas —though she spent considerable time secretly wondering why.<em>

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><p>Anne, entering the English class with Phil and Stella, saw that most of the class was grouped around Gilbert, who seemed to be giving an informal speech. He looked up and saw them, and a smile brightened his earnest countenance, and Anne, smiling back involuntarily, felt her heart flutter again – as though there was a string attached to Gilbert's smile, which joined her heart at the other end. They were hailed by the other freshmen, who were "all in a buzz" about the Thorburn scholarship and the Redmond Arts Festival, for which Gilbert was marshaling the class to set up a play - to be written, directed and produced by themselves. Anne, already admired for her powers of imagination and writing, was unanimously voted to be scriptwriter, and Gilbert was to be the main lead (which was largely due to the votes of the female population of the class), while Priscilla was to act, and Phil - of the clever fingers - was to be in charge of the costumes.<p>

Anne, who had been transported into "the seventh heaven of delight" at having been given such a free rein to her imagination, was finding it difficult to settle upon an appropriate theme for the play.

"I don't know what will be best, Gil – a romance ending in tragedy, full of moving dialogues; or a story of war and sorrow. When I think of choosing one, it seems that the other will be more touching. I'm feeling, as Phil says –like a see-saw." And then she felt like taking back her words – for she hadn't wanted to talk about _anything_ romance-related with Gilbert. But Gilbert just said, "A patriotic themed play will be the best, I should think. It can have a touch of romance, and all the moving dialogues you crave, Anne, and I'm sure the judges will favour it more. A romantic tragedy would be too common, don't you think?" He smiled at her, but it was his usual friendly smile, and his words did not seem to be fraught with innuendo, and he soon left her to go and speak with some other friends.

Anne did not know on what to blame the disquiet that followed, and she wondered if Gilbert was past his infatuation. The thought brought her relief (or so she told herself). But in the weeks that followed, she did not know why she felt so uncharitable towards the female lead, who was a good friend of hers, why her eyes unconsciously sought out Gilbert during the rehearsals - even when he was not acting and imagined him coming to her, or why she found herself blushing whenever she heard the lines, penned for the brave soldier, who left his sweetheart to serve his country, enunciated so heartrendingly in Gilbert's voice.

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><p><em>"I wonder why everybody seems to think I ought to marry Gilbert Blythe," said Anne petulantly.<em>

_"Because you were made and meant for each other, Anne—that is why. You needn't toss that young head of yours. It's a fact."_

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><p>Anne had settled down by the fireside, in an old frock and a shawl around her shoulders, to enjoy an hour's reading, one Wednesday evening. Phil had lent her Ann Radcliffe's A Sicilian Romance("Looks like SHE didn't mind her name being spelled without an E", Phil had said wickedly), pronouncing it to be "smashing", and she was alone. Aunt Jimsie had retired early, on account of her joints troubling her, Phil was out walking with Jonas – "under the stars and the moon" , and Stella and Priscilla were attending a Theological Society meeting.<p>

The doorbell rang, and Anne, roaming around the mountains and castles of Sicily, went absentmindedly to open the door, thinking that Phil had returned, only to find that it was Roy.

A surprised "Oh!" escaped, and feeling terribly conscious of her hair, tied up carelessly, and her old, faded clothes, she invited him in, wondering what had caused this visit on a "no-callers" day.

Roy, after sitting and chatting inconsequentially for some moments, took out a piece of paper from his coat," I was working on my Latin paper, but I suddenly had a vision of an angel, with deep auburn hair, and silver-grey eyes. My pen would not continue writing grammar anymore – but _would_ compose lines describing her, and my feet would not let me rest, but led me to read them out to my muse. May I, Anne?" He said, his dark, soulful eyes overflowing with feeling.

Naturally flattered, Anne thanked him prettily, and said jokingly," Somehow I always think of angels as having long, shining, golden hair – surely God would never be so cruel as to make anyone live with red-hued hair for eternity!"

Roy looked at her blankly," It does not matter – an angel once, an angel always."

"Oh." Anne, who was never at a loss for conversation, did not know what to add to this wholly undisputable statement(If anything COULD be added) and felt that pang of disappointment one feels, when conversing with people who _cannot _understand one's jokes or points of view. Unconsciously her mind went to Gilbert, with whom conversation was truly of the best kind – when you could say whatever came to your mind, with the surety of being responded to, in kind.

After he had gone, Anne went up to her bedroom and sat on the window seat, with her arms hugging her knees, and rested her head on her arms, looking out at the deep black night. Her thoughts, still lingering on Roy's visit, seemed to wander away from him, and twisted into new, unexplored paths – and her dreams that night seemed to bring her a companion - who buoyed up her spirits through scintillating talks, and kept her laughing with funny, quaint tales – and whose eyes were not "meltingly melancholy", but merry, mischievous and hazel.

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><p><em>She loved Gilbert—had always loved him! She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast him out of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right hand and cast it from her.<em>

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><p>Anne, searching for a piece of paper to write a note on, opened a drawer and saw a bit of paper peeking out from underneath a pile of books. She tugged at it and realized what it was – a piece of nonsense that she had scribbled on that giddy morning, when she had found that Gilbert was out of danger, and the revelation of the night still had her enthralled in that absolute certainty - that Gilbert WAS hers, as much as she was his – and it seemed as though she only had to stretch a hand and reach out to grab that fruit of happiness, nearly lost through her folly, which beckoned to her.<p>

"_Oh, foolish heart! That failed to see_

_What I wanted, right before me_

_For years pined away in vain,_

_Wasted, unnecessary pain._

_When truth seemed not what you sought,_

_Gave pain, and pain was what you got._

_Oh, foolish heart! Before it's late -_

_Learn, change and embrace your fate."_

Anne smiled, a bit forlornly. She had told him she would meet him the next day, for a stroll in Lovers Lane, but she felt disheartened. Surely he wouldn't have continued calling on her, if he felt that she no longer cared for him – as she had so foolishly, blindly told him? It MUST be because he no longer felt the same, and was truly engaged to Christine, so felt safe with her. The thought plagued her day and night, and none of her whimsical notions were enough to "set her spirits straight", so she felt quite as pessimistic as Eliza Andrews, and nearly as old as her, too. She folded up the piece of paper, saying to herself, 'Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all." But that quote, which had seemed so fraught with romance in earlier days, seemed paltry consolation to a heart, which would rather have basked in the light of love won.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, there are PLENTY of things I may have made mistakes in here - from the Old English I've tried to use, to the grammatical errors in the NORMAL English I've used. So please do review and say! ^_^ **

**Oh, and the lines which Gilbert quotes are from a poem by Emily Dickinson.**

**chocolate1998: Thanks! :D And the ending is the same - these bits I've written are just supposed to be inserted into the actual story(after the situations in the italicized parts happen)**

**canadaroks: Oh, that sounds interesting! ^_^ Which book of Agatha Christie's did you find it in? I'll try working on it, but it may take some time, my holidays are nearly over :/**


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